When the Dreams End
by Wolfgang Thursday
Summary: Savagery, pride and the battle for survival! Sequel to "When the Legends Die" by Hal Borland. Tom Black Bull searches within himself and another to fix the hole torn in him.
1. Default Chapter

"When the Dreams End"  
  
-~-  
  
Sequel to "When the Legends Die" by Hal Borland  
  
When legends die, the dreams end. When the dreams end, there is no more greatness.  
  
  
  
Tom Black Bull looked back to the direction of Horse Mountain and Bald Mountain. He promised himself he wasn't going to leave the shelter of his lodge. He broke his promise. He damned himself.  
  
The walk to Pagosa sent ripples of pain into him. He thought after working as the sheepherder, his body would be back in order. But he was wrong, the pain stayed. It stayed and taunted him and his mistake. It laughed and cackled as it bought up memories from the accident. It laughed at Devil Tom, laughed as his inability to bring a horse to a stand still when he could have.  
  
But not even the pain from the accident nor the memories stopped Tom. Winter was coming, and he needed a blanket. With four hand-made baskets and a pack on his back filled with smoked meet and dried berries, he walked into the small town of Pagosa. He wore tan leggings and moccasins with an old work shirt on. His black hair hung shoulder length and tied back low with a tin strap of leather. He just ignored the strange looks he got from people passing him by on the streets.  
  
Finally he neared the familiar store owned by Jim Thatcher. As he walked inside he spotted an aged and withered Jim Thatcher behind the counter, sitting on a stool by the cash register. Tom walked up to the counter and placed the baskets on the counter, then walked over to where he saw the blankets. Looking through them, he finally stopped when he spotted a musky red one and took it over with him to the counter.  
  
"Well I'll be damned," Thatcher spoke, "If it an't old Tom Black Bull. Last I heard of you, you were all dressed as fine as any rich man. Now look at you." He let his voice trail off, not wanting to upset his old time costumer. "Fine baskets, won't suspect any less from you." Tom picked out a hunting knife and put it on the counter as well. When Thatcher figured it all worked out as an even trade, he said his good bye to Tom. Tom put the folded blanket and knife in his pack and left the store.  
  
He left with out any words. The sooner he got back to his lodge, the sooner he can go to back to the old days. A brisk wind wrapped around Tom. Gossiping woman and low talking man passed him up on the streets, all ignoring the odd stranger. But it didn't matter to Tom; he was almost out of Pagosa and into the forest that would take him back to his lodge. But he still had a two-day hike to go.  
  
Dead, fallen leafs coated the forest floor and made a slight crunching sound under Tom's feet. As he made his way down the stream he stopped every now and then to rest his aching body and to take a drink. At the first night he camped where he had to leave the stream and waited for the sun to set. After it set he sang the song to the evening and then pulled some jerky out of his pack. He sat on the side of the stream and ate the dried meat, memories haunting his mind.  
  
He went on this trip with his mother, before she passes away. He went down to the shop and watched as she tried in her baskets and got them supplies. That was the winter after his father was killed. That was also before the winter his mother died. He pulled the blanket out of his pack and wrapped it tightly around his body, as though trying to block out the cold, the memories. When the calm of night came and the blackness claimed the sky, he was lulled to sleep huddled away inside his blanket.  
  
Morning's early light woke Tom as a bird sang its song off in the distance. He woke and washed himself in the stream. While the cold water dried from his shivering body, he sang the song to the morning. The words flowed from his mouth slurred and weary from the anguish that claimed Tom. He won't admit it, but his life of solitude and loneliness was starting to break him down.  
  
A part of him still longed to be back in the arena, the hidden part. No, it was not hidden. it was Devil Tom. He was no longer that man; he no longer needed to take pain and frustration out on horses. But part of him still longed for it, still called out for the devil in him. Splashing his face with the chilled water one more time, Tom got out of the stream and prepared for the second day of travel. As he walked he idly chewed on some meat and limped slightly.  
  
With mid day drawing near, Tom knew he was almost home. The long hike through the mountains paid its toll on his body. He just wanted to rest is his lodge. was that all he wanted? Something in the back of his mind screamed, it yelled no and trashed out. He just pushed it aside, shoved it into the far reaches of the shadows of his mind. There was nothing else he wanted. Nothing. It couldn't have been a lie.  
  
Slowly Tom made his way to the first bench of Granite Peak, the place where he built his lodge. It blended perfectly in with the mountainside, one would not be able to see it if they did not know to look for it. He took out his blanket and knife from the pack and put them away. He then started a fire and sat it its warmth, sheepishly staring into the flames. Flames, the flames that burnt down his childhood home and the flames that consumed his old home where he learned to ride broncs.  
  
No! Tom shook his head; he wont let the memories control him anymore. Not anymore! He killed his past. the hunt was over. All he had to live for now was survival; not to ride broncs or to herd sheep, but to just survive like his ancestors did in the old days. That was all that was left to his life now. or was it? Stop it! Tom yelled at himself. Stop thinking like that! He fueled the fire as mid-day died away and the sun started to hide behind the western horizon.  
  
He ate the last of meet and dried berries and sang the song to the evening, not even thinking about why he sang anymore, not even caring anymore. Dullness lingered in the small pine lodge as the fire died down as Tom fell to sleep.  
  
He dreamt he was in the rodeo. A bronc ran out of an open gate and charged at him. It bucked and its hooves were about to fall upon Tom until they fell in front of him and stood still. On it's bareback sat a shadowed person, a woman. The strange woman patted its sweating neck and cooed the horse. She offered a hand to Tom, who took it and jumped onto the horse behind the woman. The arena disappeared and they were in a meadow, the horse gazing on some grass. The woman started to sing the song about the roundness of life. Tom found himself singing along as everything started to swirl into blackness. He woke, cold and shivering. 


	2. Default Chapter

The first snow fell and passed and Tom lived off his smoked deer meat and smoked trout. It seemed all day and night the coldness encaged him; it was the first winter since Tom rode broncs. His first winter back in the old ways. His days mixed together, each feeling the same as the last. Until finally the snow began to melt away and spring was making its return.   
  
The first night all the snow had disappeared, he sang the deer song. Next day he went hunting and killed a doe. He skinned if for leather and took meat to eat and smoke. He used everything he could then threw the rest away. He ate and drank, then rested down by the fire in his lodge. Even though winter's snow was gone, it's coldness still clung to the air.   
  
Days passed, and then weeks and spring was in full bloom. With it came a shortage of supplies. Tom needed more ammunition for his rifle, as well as some clothe for new clothes lighter than leather. Taking smoked meat from a deer he killed a few days before, he packed up for the trip to Pagosa.   
  
Wearily the first then second day passed, both filled with aching pain and sores. Finally, he made it to Pagosa and headed straight for Thatcher's store. He walked in and looked around, the store hadn't changed; only no one was there. Suddenly, a woman walked in and went behind the counter.   
  
"Sorry 'bout that. Anything I can do for you, Sir?" She wore a loose flannel shirt with the sleeves torn off and tight-fitting jeans. She pulled a piece of mid-forearm length brown hair behind her ear as she waited for his answer.  
  
"Where's Jim?" Tom asked as he placed tan textile on the counter along with a box of bullets and four baskets.   
  
"Dead," she answered, "Died just last winter, at his age he couldn't handle the cold and just crooked over. I'm Kelly, his daughter. When I heard he died I moved in from Colorado to watch over my ma." She explained, figuring how much cloth to give and cutting it. She took the baskets and stared at Tom with a confused look. "Say, don't I know you from somewhere? Yeah, now I remember! You're Killer Tom Black. I saw you in the rodeo a while back- when I still lived in Colorado."   
  
Tom just grabbed this new things and stated, "I'm not Tom Black… I'm not the man you are talking about…" His voice trailed off as he packed away his belongings.   
  
"No, it has to be you! I saw your picture in the newspaper. Besides, who can forget a face like yours?" She leaned forward and rested her elbows on the counter, crocking her head slightly.   
  
"What do you mean by that," Tom scolded, throwing his pack onto his back and turning to leave the store. He didn't even wait for an answer and just left the store, Kelly running after him.  
  
"Hey wait! I didn't mean any harm; you just got a handsome face. And if I might add, the scars are very becoming!" She yelled to his back as he ignored her and continued to walk down the street. She grunted under her breath and ran to Tom's side as he neared the edge of Pagosa.   
  
"If you're not Killer Tom Black, than who are you? If you don't mind my asking…" Tom paused as he tried to think of an answer. Too many feelings and memories flashed awake inside his head until he finally settled on an answer.  
  
"I don't know who I am." He told Kelly as he looked at her for a moment, and then walked again. Kelly froze, no longing having the need to follow this man. The look he gave her emitted a look from a person that had felt pain and suffering their whole life. Something in those eyes scared her, and yet pulled her in. 


	3. Default Chapter

3.)  
It has been a few hours since he spoke with Kelly, now he rested by the stream. He was sprawled out on the soft grass starring at the tops of the trees. Tom sat up and rubbed his legs. He picked up his pack and started to walk again. He set camp where he left the stream and slept under the stairs.   
  
He did not dream that night, but still woke sold and shaking. He washed himself and got ready to leave. He started to walk home. When mid-day came he rested and ate, then walked again. Just as the sun started to set, Tom made his way to the lodge.   
  
He sang his song to the evening and finished the smoked meat. After starting a fire, he fell asleep; finally resting his sore legs. The next morning he woke and went to the river near his lodge. He caught some trout for breakfast and sang the song to the new day. Then he went to wash himself.   
  
As Tom scooped up some water he saw his reflection. "The scars are very becoming…" her voice echoed in the back of his mind. He splashed the water and washed himself with closed eyes. Why should he let what that woman said get to him like this?  
  
He dried off in the sun as he ate. He dressed himself and sat cross-legged out in the front of his lodge. Tom started on a new shirt. After poking his finger a few times, his skill-full hands started to sew faster and faster at the tan material. In only a few hours he was done and started to work on a simple sarong. When he finished that he ate again and rested. As the sun started to set he sang the song of the evening again, just letting the words fall out in their own free will, too tired to care anymore.   
  
His eyelids closed as his body feel limp into sleep. Blackness surrounded him as coldness encaged him. A mist appeared and coated the nothingness around Tom. Out of the mist walked a woman, dressed in all white and long, flowing black hair waving to her gentle steps. A look of scorn masked the woman's face as she embraced Tom. With a burst, everything disappeared. Including the woman, and gave way to a world of red.   
  
Tom was standing in a river of blood. Dead horses floated past him with the current. People, calling out and cheering at him, surrounded the bank of the river. In front of everyone stood a crying Kelly- soundlessly yelling and pointing at something in the river. Tom turned around and saw a baby strangling in the water. He picked up the baby until it dissolved in hid hands.  
  
Tom woke, sweating and breathing quickly. He disrobed himself and ran to the river. A short wash would do him good. The cold water on his skin calmed him greatly. As he sat in the sun to and dried off he pondered about the recent dreams he's been having. All with a woman, one with Kelly… No! He wouldn't think about this all day, things had to be done.   
  
He went back to his lodge and dressed himself. Tom grabbed his rifle and a small sack of bullets; he was running out of meat. In the shadows of brush and trees alike he stalked the forest, his quick eyes searching for a deer. And there she was, a young doe grazing in the shade of the lush trees. As Tom loaded his rifle he sang the deer song and sang, the words coming of their own accord. The loud bang of the rifle rang through out his ears and a flash of blood flew through the air. He got the deer. 


End file.
